


bless this mess

by foxmagpie



Series: little gifts [23]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, F/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Rio POV, Slow Burn, Vaginal Sex, marijuana mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 15:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmagpie/pseuds/foxmagpie
Summary: Rio makes an early morning call to Elizabeth's house; Annie tries to pry (badly); Elena asks for advice.





	bless this mess

Rio’s fingers twitch on the steering wheel when he pulls onto Elizabeth’s street Sunday mornin’. She’s got 24 hours left to solidify the Kostra deal, and he’s tired of her pressin’ his buttons, savin’ it all for the last fuckin’ minute. Either the guy’s gonna say yes or he’s gonna say no, so what was the point in draggin’ it out?

(He knows what it is: Elizabeth’s afraid that askin’s gonna fuck up whatever Dick and Jane romance they got goin’ on—he should’ve narrowed the timeframe, shouldn’t have given her such a long leash, but when the time limit’s up, he thinks _ her _ time limit might be up. She’s walkin’ a tightrope, decidin’ who she wants to be, and as the days have dwindled, it’s become clearer that she’s gonna go back to her happy housewife life—helping Sweater Vest run a _ toy _ store, no less. _ Fuck _.)

Rio parks several houses away, like he usually does, and heads towards the path that’ll bring him to her backyard, but when he glances at her house, he sees some silver Toyota Prius in the driveway. It’s not her husband’s, unless he got a new used car, but as little credit as he wants to give Dean, he knows he’s got slightly better taste than that. Not much, but still.

It’s early. Barely past 8 o’clock. _ That _ means he spent the night.

He’d meant to surprise her, put her off-kilter with the early drop-in (and okay, _ maybe _ he was havin’ a hard time stayin’ away after that hookup on the patio). Now, though, he runs his tongue along his teeth.

Front door it is. He’ll crash their mornin’ routine, set Elizabeth off, make her blush. It might even be fun.

(Rio’s fingers flex in frustration along his thigh, but he ignores that.)

He can’t help but peer into Peter’s car as he passes. He spies the mess of pens and packets of sugar in the cup holders, a duffel bag and some papers in the backseat. Rio scoffs. 

When Rio raps on the door, he resets his face to something impassive. He can hear Elizabeth ask, “Who’s that?” as if she’s just on the other side of the door.

The door swings open almost immediately, and Elizabeth stands before him, Peter just behind her in a pair of sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt. Pajamas. He gives Rio a curt wave with a flick of his wrist and smiles, unphased. Rio nods tightly in acknowledgment. 

Elizabeth’s wearin’ that same silk robe she put on when she told him she was done—no more cash, no more pills—navy with some red flowers. She pulls it tighter around her, startled to see him on the other side of the threshold. 

Usually she’s up and dressed by now. She must’ve had a late night. His fingers flutter at his side. 

Elizabeth’s eyes are wide. “What are you doing here?” 

Rio glances at Peter. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, which curve up into a smirk. “Got business to discuss.”

“Can it wait?” Beth asks. Her shoulders slump. She already knows the answer.

“Nah. ‘S’important,” he says, then adds with emphasis, “Time sensitive. You know.”

Sighing, Elizabeth steps aside to let Rio pass through into the foyer. 

For a moment the three of them stand there silently. Elizabeth’s still got her hand clamped around the top of her robe, and her eyes are cast downward.

Peter claps his hands together, oblivious to the mood in the room. “Okay! Well! I can see you two have important things to discuss and I don’t want to get in the way…” 

Peter holds his hand out to Rio to shake. Rio eyes it, then reluctantly gives him one strong pump.

“We should all go out again sometime,” Peter says, as he starts lacing up some tennis shoes by the front door. “That was fun the other night.”

“Yeah, yeah. Real fun,” Rio drawls, eyes on Elizabeth. Her cheeks pinken.

“I really liked your date,” Peter says, looking up. 

**“**Yeah,” Rio says slowly, watching Elizabeth. “Me, too.” Her head snaps up, but she keeps her face neutral. Rio hates it. 

Peter chuckles, like Rio’s said something amusing. “We should do it again soon?”

Elizabeth’s face twists, but she strangles out a noncommittal, “Mhm.”

“Oh, I’d be up for a repeat,” Rio says, and Peter nods along, ignorant, and god, if Rio weren't so agitated by finding the guy here this mornin’, he might almost be gleeful. But then everythin’ gets even better.

Standing back up from tying his shoes, Peter says, “Okay, well, have a good meeting. I’ll see you later?” He steps toward Elizabeth and then, with some clumsiness, he kisses her lightly on the lips. He nearly misses. 

It’s fuckin’ painful to watch because it’s so _ chaste _ and _goofy_. The night at the restaurant, when Elizabeth had come back to the table and invited Peter to fuck her after Rio had made her squirm on his hand—Rio had gone home alone, wound up and pissed off. But he sees now that there’s just no fuckin’ way that Elizabeth and this guy did anything more than some heavy petting— _ maybe. _

He can’t help it. He _ grins_. It makes him feel kinda wild that Elizabeth fronted that hard just for Rio’s sake. 

Rio’s eyes trail after Peter as he lifts a hand goodbye without turning around and slips out the door.

They’re alone. 

Rio makes a noise of amusement. Elizabeth ignores it, brushing past him and into the dining room to start cleaning up a few breakfast dishes on the kitchen table. Rio follows her and notes there’s only one set of plates and a single mug out.

He doesn’t know what her and Sweater Vest are, but maybe he didn’t sleep over after all. 

“I’m already aware of the deadline, so what are you here for?” Elizabeth asks sharply, throwing a butter knife and a fork onto the small plate with a _ clang. _

“The show.”

Her eyes narrow. “What does that mean?” 

_“That_,_”_ Rio says, gesturing to the front door where Peter has disappeared. He smirks and he knows he’s bein’ a dick but he doesn’t give a shit. “That display of raw passion. He satisfyin’ you, ma?” 

The pet name just slips out. Neither of them acknowledges it. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Beth says prudishly, as if she’s hiding something from him. She resumes tidying. With far too much force, Beth throws a napkin on top of the silverware and then slams the small plate on top of a heavier plate that’s smothered with the dark purple juice of melted blueberries. 

“Mhm,” Rio says, nodding, lower lip sucked into his mouth. He steps closer to her. 

Elizabeth turns toward him and freezes, rigid. “Don’t do that.”

“Why? Worried you can’t control yourself?”

Eyes flashing, Elizabeth says, flustered, “Don’t act like—like—such an _ ass_. You don’t get to do that. You can’t be—you don’t get to be jealous when _ you _—”

“He fuck you as good?” 

Rio takes another step toward her, closing the gap. Elizabeth’s breathing heavily, her cheeks are rosy, and he can smell her lavender shampoo. He looks down and, from this angle, he can almost see straight down the li’l nightie she wears underneath the robe. 

Rio snaps his eyes back to hers. “Tell me, mama. How wet can he get you before he even puts a hand on you?”

She refuses to look away from his gaze but her pupils dart back and forth. He looks down through his lashes and spots her blush spreadin’ down and across her chest. She blinks but doesn’t move an inch. 

“He touch you right? Make you moan?” Rio tugs at the bottom of Elizabeth’s robe, just enough that it shifts and exposes that her nipples are hard beneath the thin material of her nightie. Rio cocks an eyebrow and grazes his teeth along his lip. 

Elizabeth glances at his mouth and then sets her lips in a hard, angry line. 

Gently, Rio pushes her bangs back before he lets his fingers ghost down from her cheek bone to her jaw, and then down further still until his fingers curl gently around her throat. He presses his thumb into the hollow of her neck and asks, “He get you to make that noise in the back of your throat, the one you do right before—”

“You really want to know?” Elizabeth challenges, acting like maybe he has. 

Rio wants to laugh. 

He wants to fucking break her.

“You love his cock?” he whispers, leaning close to her ear, remembering her declaring that she loved his on a hotel bed in Toronto. His hand glides down, curling into a loose fist with his knuckles grazing her collar bone. He hears her breath hitch in her throat, and she flushes brighter, remembering too. “He made you come the other night, yeah? I mean—I gave him a pretty good head start—“

“_Stop_.”

“Yeah? You want me to?” His hand stops moving immediately. It’s so quiet that Rio can hear her swallow. 

Elizabeth closes her eyes and tries to resume breathin’ normally, but an involuntary shiver courses through her whole goddamn body. Fuck, _ he’s _ practically breathless waitin’ to hear what she’s gonna say. 

The volume of her voice is nearly inaudible, but it sounds like goddamn thunder in his head. “I mean… stop _ talking_.” 

She leans forward just slightly so that his hand is no longer just ghosting against her skin—no, now his fingers are pressin’ into her soft flesh, and there’s nothin’ particularly scandalous about it—shit, all she did was tell him to shut the fuck up—but he’s hard in his jeans, and he knows that she’s wet in those panties—knows that if he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t even gotta warm her up for him.

He wants to, though.

He’d denied her that orgasm the other night and he can’t lie, he’d enjoyed it, the way her eyes widened in shock—but he’d denied himself somethin’, too. He would’ve taken her there, in front of all those people in that bar, would’ve hiked her up against the wall like he did in that bathroom, everyone else be damned. But he was still annoyed at the way she’d pulled away from him in that warehouse only to jump him like that on that patio, like she had a right to be jealous after everythin’ with her dumbass husband—not to mention when she had her _ own _ date sittin’ right inside.

But he hasn’t been with her in her in so long, and _ fuck_, he’s woken up more than once in the past month hard and desperate, dreamin’ of her underneath him, on top of him, pressed between him and the wall. Now that she’s here, alone with him, pupils blown and dark, Rio ain’t about to skip steps. 

How the fuck does she do this to him? 

Rio feels his blood boilin’ and he’s furious at her. _ For _ her. 

He wants to devour her. 

He wants every fuckin’ part of her. He wants her breath in his ear, and the smell of her sweat in his nose. He wants to feel the slickness of her cunt with his fingers, with his tongue, with his cock. But god, that isn’t even all of it—because he wants a hand to grip her ass, another to palm at her tits, and he wants his nails to dig into her flesh and leave marks. And fuck if maybe he also wants his teeth to sink into her skin, to leave a trickle of blood and maybe a bruise for someone else to find, for someone else to know that she’s _ his_. 

He wants to taste her lips again, and goddammit, he forgot about her lips and where he’d like her to put ‘em—there’s not even enough of him to explore all of her in this moment, because he knows he doesn’t have it in him to last more than a few fuckin’ pumps inside of her—not when he already feels this close and he’s _ barely even touched her _.

They both let the tension snap like a rubber band at the same time, mouths colliding in a violent kiss. 

He lifts her onto the table—she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him as close to her as possible—and her hand falls back behind her body to steady her, but it just smashes into the plates, makes a loud _ clatter _ as glass hits glass hits wooden table. Rio tears his lips away from hers, mouth at her jaw, at her throat, sucking hard at her skin, leaving marks.

Elizabeth’s so lost she doesn’t even stop him—she just whines and pants his name, over and over like a fuckin’ _ song_. He trails hickeys down her chest, suckin’ them into the tops of her breasts. He knows she won’t be able to hide ‘em, and it feels even better than smashin’ up a corvette with a tire iron. 

_ Mine, _ he thinks possessively, kissing the bruises he’s left on her. _ Mine, mine, mine_. 

Only he must not be thinkin’ it, he must be murmuring it into her skin because Elizabeth pants back, “_Yours_.”

Rio groans, realizing this, and he digs his nails into her hips through her clothes. It’s not enough—there’s too much of a barrier between them. His craving to get his hands on her skin is making him half-mad. He pulls roughly at the robe, attempting to yank it out from underneath her. Elizabeth leans forward to help him, surging upwards towards his lips and wrapping her hands around his head, raking her nails through his cropped hair. He gets his hands on her bare skin, and it's hot to the touch.

It's not enough.

Rio wriggles out from her grip to drop to his knees and push her legs open, hooking them over his shoulders. He reaches up and over her thigh to pull her panties to the side—they’re drenched, just like he knew they would be—and _ god _ he loves lookin’ at her cunt.

He’s missed the taste of her.

Rio doesn’t even have the control to tease her, to even press one single kiss on her thighs—the hand not holding the panties to the side are opening her lips so that he can get his tongue to her clit. Elizabeth gasps and shudders when it happens, sinking her nails into his scalp. His enthusiasm makes everything sound obscene, but it gets her writhin’ and squirmin’ under his mouth so that he has to pull down with his arms to lock her thighs into place. 

He slides two fingers easily into her, then stretches her with three. Eventually, she’s barely containin’ high pitched squeals of pleasure. Elizabeth loses control. She pulses around his fingers, moaning, but he doesn’t stop—he keeps relentlessly tonguing her clit and fucking her with his hand. She tries to wriggle away from him because it’s all so overwhelming, but he keeps her locked down tight. It’s only a minute before she’s coming again, head falling back, letting out her siren song—the long guttural noise he loves, the one she only does when she’s on her second or third orgasm. 

Elizabeth twists her hands into his t-shirt, tries to jerk him up by the shoulders. Rio is practically dizzy when he stands up. He looks at her through hooded eyes, sees the light sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her chest rises and falls as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes are closed, blissed out.

Unable to wait anymore, Rio undoes his belt in one swift motion. As much as he wants to make it last, he can’t deny himself of her for one more second. 

At this point, Elizabeth has scooched her ass backwards onto the table—he didn’t notice with his head buried between her legs, he’d just moved with her seamlessly—and he has to drag her back to the edge to line his cock up with her cunt. He rubs himself briefly against her clit and she shudders before he pushes into her in a long, slow stroke. Elizabeth groans, a desperate noise, just before she sinks her teeth into his shoulder. 

_ Fuck_. A gruff noise escapes his own throat as her jaw locks and she clamps down tight on his skin. 

The second he buries himself in her and feels her all around him, he’s completely lost in her. It’s intoxicating. He can’t smell nothin’ besides her hair, can’t hear nothin’ beyond her jagged moans, can’t taste nothin’ but her sex on his lips. Nothin’ else _ exists_. She’s everythin’. 

He fuckin’ loves it; he fuckin’ hates it. 

“Does he fuck you this good?” he demands, yanking her head back so he can search her gaze. Both of their brows are knit in fury.

Elizabeth doesn’t answer; she just stares at him hard and stormy.

“Answer me,” he demands. Elizabeth’s jaw falls open as he sticks the hand not fisted in her hair between them and starts rubbing her clit fiercely. “Fuckin’ answer me."

Elizabeth gasps as he increases the pressure against her tender clit. “God, please—It’s too much—”

“Elizabeth. _Answer me.” _

He needs to know. She _ has _ to say it. He’s fuckin’ determined to make her say it. 

Rio pulls her hair hard, and Elizabeth makes a noise of surprise, some intoxicating cocktail of pleasure and pain.

“No,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “Nobody does.”

“Just me.”

“Just you.”

Elizabeth tries to rip Rio’s hand away from her, but he refuses. “Come for me.”

“I can’t—please—it’s too—” Elizabeth sucks in a breath. 

“Come for me,” he repeats, softer. He eases the intensity. Starts touching her gentler. 

She lets out a whine, like it really is too much, like she can’t.

“Come on, mama,” he encourages. “Come for me.”

That does it. He can feel her muscles tightening and spasming around him. Her mouth snaps shut, and she clenches her teeth as she tumbles over the edge one more time. 

That’s enough to finish him. He fucks her rough and frenzied for the last few thrusts, and then her name’s on his lips as his own orgasm hits him like a car smashing into a brick wall—he feels like he’s just completely destroyed and there’s gotta be rubble and smoke everywhere around him. 

But there’s not, because as his cock finishes twitching inside of her, she presses the softest kiss to his mouth. It’s completely fuckin’ stupid, but it feels like everything just halts for a second—just a second, just long enough for him to get his bearings and learn how to breathe again.

Elizabeth starts pullin’ away, though, and he’s not ready for it to end. He surges forward, bumps her nose, and catches her lips with his. He lifts his hands to her face, slides his fingers through her curls, and holds her like that, close to him. She clutches her fingers around his shirt and tugs him tighter to her. 

They kiss like they didn’t just taunt each other and fuck hard and fast on a kitchen table. 

They kiss like they’ve never kissed before. It’s better—or not better, but different in a way that’s unravelin’ something in him. He can’t think straight. 

They ain’t competin’ anymore, he realizes. It’s not a game. There’s no gettin’ even. The rage and the fury seems to evaporate between them. He doesn’t know where it goes or how it disappears, but it does. 

For a moment, it does. 

Rio’s never kissed anyone like this. It’s an apology. It’s forgiveness. It’s hello.

It’s tender and soft. Just like her. It’s hungry and intense. Just like him. 

Her lips part and Rio deepens the kiss. She tastes like toothpaste and coffee—too sweet like the cream and sugar she puts in it. He don’t even like coffee, will take it black if he must, but fuck if anythin’ has ever tasted better on his lips. 

And it’s deathly quiet in the room, so when one of his phones starts vibratin’ against his thigh in his back pocket, both of them halt. They break the kiss, and Rio presses his forehead against hers, breathin’ hard. 

He has no intention of answerin’ it, but it seems to jolt Elizabeth back to her senses.

Strangled, the moment dies. 

“You’d better get that,” she says, pulling away from him, flattening her palms against his chest and pushing him back gently. He slips out of her and it’s almost painful, how raw he feels. 

_ What the fuck was that? _ Rio thinks, running a hand over his head. He pulls it away and finds his palm wet with blueberry sauce—she must’ve smeared it in his hair somewhere in the pandemonium—but he can’t even react to it, because he’s still reacting to _ this. _

“It might be Charlotte,” Elizabeth whispers, and she drops her hands so she’s not touching him at all anymore.

“It ain’t,” he snaps, but it’s too late. 

He pulls up his briefs and his pants, feeling too fuckin’ naked. Elizabeth pulls her robe around herself and crosses her arms, shoulders hitched up practically to her ears. 

Rio knows it’s not Charlotte—it was his work phone buzzin’ in his left pocket, not his personal in the right—but Elizabeth bringin’ her up pisses him off. 

Suddenly she _ cares_? 

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to think of her. Or of anyone outside this room. 

It’s all fuckin’ bullshit though. Posturing and frontin’. Elizabeth doesn't care, not really—everythin’ on the patio told him she doesn't care. 

“It’s just that I don’t want to be—”

“A’ight,” he says, cutting her off. He doesn’t wanna hear the spiel. She ain’t sayin’ anythin’ he ain’t already know. She wants to be a good person. Sugar and spice cookie cutter bullshit. 

_ Nah. You’re way more interestin’ than that. _

The memory stings. 

“We can’t be those people. We can’t—you’re dating—”

And _ fuck_, is Elizabeth seriously gonna pretend like she ain’t the one that launched herself on him two days ago while they were each on a date with other people? Like she hadn’t just caved here, now, when they were literally havin’ a _ conversation _ about her supposed boyfriend?

Again, she was more concerned about what she _ should _ want, rather than what she _ did _ want. 

Again, she was pushing him away.

Again, she was ending it. 

“I get it,” Rio snaps. “Loud and clear.”

Elizabeth slides off the table, and then they’re toe-to-toe, too close. Rio can’t stand it. He takes a wide step backward.

“I think we should only meet in public…” Elizabeth says quietly, biting down on her lip. 

Rio scoffs, shaking his head, not lookin’ at her. “‘Scuse me?” 

Elizabeth begins retying her robe, making a tight knot, and he’s transported back to that day in her bedroom. 

Rio starts to buckle his belt again, focusin’ on his hands, on his feet, on anything but her. 

He remembers watchin’ her pad across her bedroom floor and disappear into the bathroom. He remembers the dull sound of her shower turnin’ on through the wall, the way he’d rolled out of her bed and picked up his clothes off the floor. He’d stared at the mess of things he’d peeled off of her, considered swiping somethin’ from the pile, but he didn’t really want nothin’. Somehow, she’d made it so he barely even wanted the money she’d left on her bedside table when she’d dismissed him.

This moment feels a li’l like that.

“This can’t happen again...” Elizabeth pauses and Rio looks up at her, at her face just inches from his, and her eyes are big and, he thinks, a little wet. Her voice is steady, though. “It’s just… for now, I just think it’s best if we only meet up in public.”

He wants to point out that bein’ in public hasn’t ever stopped them before, but he’s tired. At this point, he’s just really fuckin’ tired.

“Fine.” And since there’s nothin’ left to say except this, he adds, “You got 24 hours.”

He didn’t need to say it. They both know. 

He wishes she would just say it’s not gonna happen. He wishes she would just end it—for good—because they both know that, too.

* * *

When Rio pulls into the back of Fine & Frugal that night to meet Annie for a drop, he’s surprised to find that she’s already outside leaning against her car, waiting for him. Usually she’s late. Every now and then she’s on time, but she’s never been early. 

Rio pulls into the space next to her and reaches to turn off the ignition when his passenger door swings open and Annie slides into his car: something else that never happens. 

Rio stares at her, intendin’ to scare her into scrambling back out, but she just rolls her eyes and says, “Relax, man. I won’t defile your precious car.”

Annie places a cloth purse and the duffel bag at her feet, tucked on the other side of her, away from him. 

Rio squints at her, trying to figure out her angle. She straightens up a bit, as if solidifying herself under his gaze. It reminds him of her sister. His jaw rocks. 

Usually these meet-ups are quick. When she finally shows up, he hops out of the car, hands her a duffel bag full of drugs, and takes the duffel bag of money from her hands. Every now and again he sees her light up a joint as she’s walkin’ across the parking lot. Sometimes she offers him a hit. A few times, he’s taken one. But they don’t speak much, although she’s asked once or twice in a grumble how long it’ll be until she’s worked off her debt. 

“Hi,” Annie says, settling into the seat. She looks around the car. “Wow. It is_ freaky _ clean in here. I mean, I heard you were weirdly neat, but _ this—” _

“Whatchu want?” Rio interrupts sharply.

“Nothing,” Annie protests. “Just making small talk.”

Rio cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s not really part of your job description.”

“Yeesh,” Annie mutters under her breath. “Didn’t know everything had to be about _ work.” _

Rio watches her fiddle with the seam of her jeans nervously—another thing she does like Elizabeth. She doesn’t move to leave or hand over the money or anything.

“You got somethin’ you wanna say?”

He suspects maybe she’s squarin’ up to ask about gettin’ paid, and he’s surprised when, instead, she turns to him and asks in a rush, “What’s up with you and Beth?”

There’s a startled moment where he thinks Elizabeth has told her sister about this mornin’. 

He’s spent the whole day pissed off and replayin’ it all in his head, gettin’ stuck on her leanin’ into his knuckles, on the way she’d reached for him and kissed him after, the way she’d pulled him closer. 

But mostly he’s stuck on the way she’d panted, “_ Yours.” _As if it were true. 

“‘Scuse me?”

“God, you’re both terrible at understanding simple questions.” Annie blows some hair out of her eyes, annoyed. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.” He ain’t about to have this conversation with Elizabeth’s sister. He still doesn’t know exactly what the conversation _ is _, but he isn’t gonna have it. 

“You know, despite everything,” Annie starts, eyeing him almost like it’s a challenge, “I _ like _ you.”

Rio’s mouth falls open and he furrows his eyebrows. He has no idea what she’s _ talkin’ _ about. _ “Huh?” _

“I mean, sure, you’re a ‘scary drug lord’ or whatever,” Annie mocks, making scare quotes with her fingers. “But who am I to judge? I’m _ selling _ your drugs.” 

Rio just stares blankly at her, willing her to get to her point.

“I like you. That’s all I’m saying. If I got to choose, I’d pick _ you _.”

What the fuck? Why was she tryin’ to make small talk, asking about him and Elizabeth? What she did mean, _ choose _ him? Between what two options? That dweeby grocery store manager boyfriend of hers? 

Was she… _ hitting on him? _

Rio doesn’t know much about Annie, besides the fact that she’s got a kid, she’s Elizabeth’s sister, and she’s annoying as fuck. Usually he’s pretty good at readin’ people, but she’s always been somewhat of a mystery to him—and unlike most mysteries, he was alright with not solvin’ this one. 

Annie looks meaningfully at him, like he should be picking up what she’s laying down. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, you ain’t my type,” Rio says finally. 

“What? Ew! No!” Annie scrunches her entire face and then shudders exaggeratedly. She recovers herself. “I mean, not _ ew, no _—I have eyes. But I also have a conscious. God.”

Rio raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything.

“That’s, like, the exact opp—” Annie cuts herself off and inhales, like she’s resetting herself. “Alright. Maybe I should just go the direct route, since you seem incapable of getting the hint—”

“Or you could just give me my money and get out of my car,” Rio suggests flatly. He don’t got time for this. 

“I tell you I like you, and you immediately make it so _ hard _ to do that. Ugh. You know what? I think we should get stoned for this.” Annie reaches down and pulls her purse into her lap. 

“Nuhh.” Rio tries to object, but Annie ignores him. She starts digging around inside of the purse. Her hand comes out dragging with it various pens, receipts, and a small metal Altoids tin. While she manages to stuff most of what she doesn’t need back into the bag, a packet of ketchup falls from her grasp—disappearing down between the seat and the center console.

Rio feels like he’s about to have an aneurysm. 

“Give me my money and get out of my car.”

“Oh my god,” Annie whines. “I’ll pick it up, Jesus—”

“Money,” Rio says, holding out his hand.

“Are you really that anal that—”

“Money.”

Annie huffs and pulls the bag up from her feet, putting the strap into Rio’s open hand. 

“Out,” Rio commands.

“Jesus, would you just—”

And she’s as stubborn as her sister, too, but Rio reaches behind the driver’s seat and pulls out his own black duffel.

“Here,” he says, shoving it onto her lap. “Now get out.”

Rio’s itching to reach for his gun, but if Elizabeth’s told Annie anythin’, she’ll know he ain’t about to use it on her, either. 

Annie opens her mouth to protest again, but Rio fixes her with a glare that takes her aback. He reaches across her to pop open the door, and Annie finally gives up. Huffing, she steps out of the car and slams the door. Rio doesn’t glance back at her in the rearview mirror as he leaves her behind, peeling out of the parking lot.

* * *

In the morning, Rio’s pacing in his dining room as he reconsiders his text to Elizabeth.

_ 11 pm. Jack’s Diner. _

He thinks maybe he should push up the time, maybe even 5 or 6 o’clock. Stop draggin’ it out. If she doesn’t get the deal, there’s only two options, he thinks: either she leaves, just like Annie predicted all those months ago—or Rio’s got to follow-through on his promise to handle it _ his way_, but he knows that’ll only drive her to quit anyway. 

He’s still starin’ at the text when his phone rings and Elena’s name flashes on the screen. They’d sent Marcus on a Boy Scouts camping trip this weekend, and he shouldn’t be back until late afternoon, so it ain’t exactly like they got much to talk about right now—unless somethin’ happened.

Rio punches the green button to accept the call.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, jaw rocking. 

“What? Nothing,” Elena says, taken aback. But the end of her words are a li’l squeakier than usual, and Rio can hear that trace of worry in her voice. “Do you want to grab coffee—or _ tea_? I guess? Now?”

Oh, god. Now everythin’ was a question—that was never good with her. 

“What’s goin’ on, Elena?” Rio asks sharply. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing. It’s just—I need advice. Or your opinion? About Alex?”

Rio’s brow furrows. Last he’d heard about Alex, Elena was sayin’ he might be _ the one_. She was pushin’ him to try for “somethin’ real” because she didn’t wanna leave him behind, didn’t want him to feel abandoned about her moving on and startin’ a new family. 

And he was. Or he was tryin’ to try for something real, at least.

But obviously he ain’t exactly in a position to be dispensin’ advice (not that he ever was). He sighs, though, because he also can’t be turnin’ away Elena when she asks for a favor, either. Not ever. She was his best friend. She was the mother of his child. How many times had he told her, “All you gotta do is ask”?

Well. Here she was: askin’.

“Where we meetin’?”

* * *

Elena’s fingers flutter nervously around the short, fat hand-painted mug at the hokey li’l coffee shop she’s picked out. She’s already got a tea ready for him—in a dainty floral teacup that reminds him (of course) of Elizabeth. 

“Christ, Elena,” he grumbles, settling down in mismatched chair, knees pointed out. He smooths his hands out on his thighs.

“I know, I know—it clashes with your _ aesthetic_,” Elena says, rolling her eyes. “It’s just the first one I could think of.”

“You come here all the time, don’t you?”

“I like it,” she says defensively, dragging her mug across the table so that she can sort of hover over it protectively. “You’ll like the tea. Try it.”

Rio sighs and takes a sip. It’s fine. Nothin’ special. 

“Está bien,” he says smoothly. “Now what’s up?”

Elena’s burstin’ to tell him. Clearly the few seconds they’ve talked about anythin’ else have already been too long. 

“Alex asked me to move in together. This morning. At breakfast.” Elena’s eyes are wide, worried.

“And?” Is this what she’s so jittery about? “You basically said as much more than a month ago. Why you look so surprised?”

Elena shakes her head, looking down, embarrassed. “I know. It just feels—I don’t know. We kept talking about _ the future_. But now it’s here, and it feels… different.”

Rio takes a drink, looking at her over his cup. He ain’t followin’.

“Thought you liked him.”

“Sí, claro. That’s not the part I’m questioning—”

Rio holds up a hand. He’d like her to get to the point. “Can you just… lay it all out?”

“God, you are so emotionally incompetent,” Elena sighs, like she’s regretting asking him for advice. She drops her spoon in her coffee and stirs it mindlessly. 

Rio clicks his teeth. “Ain’t you the one askin’ _ me _ for advice? You told me he’s the one. He’s askin’ you to take the next step. I’m failin’ to see the problem.”

“I’d think you, of all people, would understand.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re the most commitment-phobic person I know. You basically short-circuited when any of us wanted to _ meet _ the woman you were dating, and I had to _ dare _ you to even consider being open to the _ idea _ of settling down. I bet you haven’t even thought about it since we talked.”

Rio’s lip twitches in annoyance, but he doesn’t really want to get into this. None of that was the point of this meeting.

“_Have _ you?” Elena asks, incredulously, reading him. “You _ have. _”

Rio shrugs one shoulder, non-committal.

“Are you dating someone?”

Rio lowers his chin, nearly a nod. 

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t,” Rio warns. “It’s only been a couple of dates. It’s nothin’.”

“But you’re open to the idea of—?”

“Tryin’ to be,” Rio says gruffly.

And he was. Or he had been.

First, he’d tried with Elizabeth. He’d bitten down his pride, ignored the sinkin’ feelin’ that he knew it was a bad idea, and he’d kissed her in that warehouse.

She’d giggled and smiled at him just like she had in her kitchen all those months ago when she’d made that shot, and he’d taken the step towards her. He’d paused, askin’ her without words, and she’d said _ yes_. Only she hadn’t meant it, only she’d regretted it, pushing him away from her, fingers splayed on his chest, saying, _ “We shouldn’t.” _

So yeah, he’d called up the woman he’d met at the storage unit a few days beforehand. He wasn’t plannin’ on it, she wasn’t his usual type, not with her three kids and her mom jeans, but he’d thought _ fuck it. _

And it’d been goin’ well, so far, he thought. Besides… Well. Besides.

But tryin’ had its potential. It also had its drawbacks. Bein’ open to the possibility that it could become real, maybe, someday—it meant he had to be different. 

It meant when she’d mentioned her son’s name was Marcus, well, he’d had to mention that his was, too. That was all he gave her—a name and an age—but that’d still felt like a lot. Normal people didn’t keep their kids a secret, though, and his usual tricks and deceptions weren’t gonna work with a woman like this—a woman who was movin’ shit like a _ Bless this Mess _ throw pillow and an ugly assortment of coffee mugs that Elena would like. 

(Yeah. He’d peeked in a box or two.)

And he’d been right. She wasn’t the type that was gonna let weird things slide. Charlotte had already proven herself to be nosy in his personal affairs (or maybe not nosy—just _ interested_). 

She’d eavesdropped on that conversation in the warehouse when he was on the phone barkin’ orders at Demon, tellin’ him to pick up Mr. Cisco and _ deal with it_, “it” bein’ some green member of a rival gang tryin’ to make a name for himself by tryin’ to steal his product. 

Charlotte had asked about the names when he was helping her load up boxes into her car, and so he’d told her they were good friends, old buddies that still went by the nicknames they’d all made up in high school. Charlotte had scrunched her nose at the idea of some 16-year-old boy declaring himself “Mr. Cisco,” and made a few jokes about it, but she’d believed him. 

His apartment, though? That’d been a tough one. Before Charlotte, Elizabeth had been the only woman he’d allowed in there—even if the first time had been allowing her to break in through his fire escape. 

Charlotte had ended up there by accident. 

They’d been out to dinner before goin’ to a show. Charlotte had been emphatically tellin’ a story about some work drama. In her reenactment, she’d accidentally swung her arm wildly across the table, spilling her drink all over their plates and him. Wet and sticky from the alcohol, Rio had nearly cancelled the second half of the date entirely, but Charlotte’s insistent apologies and embarrassment—and his intention to _ try_—made him reconsider. So he’d meant to just drop by, change, and be on his way—only when he’d parked, she’d asked, “Can I see your place?”

He’d told her he didn’t have women over, not ‘til things were more serious. He had a kid; he didn’t like to disrupt his son’s life like that. Charlotte had pursed her lips and nodded, but it was clear she was thinkin’ that he’d already met _ her _ kids, and that Marcus wasn’t even at home, so what was the harm? 

He realized it was one of those things he couldn’t get away with, not if he was goin’ for a semblance of normal. 

So, with great reluctance, Rio had let her come up. She’d scoped out the art and furniture with great interest, and barely resisted peeking her head into Marcus’s room. She’d seen the closet, though. Laughed at his color-coded organization, but not unkindly. 

“Chris, this is big,” Elena says, reaching across the table to squeeze his forearm. “What’s she like?”

“Ain’t we here to talk about you?”

Elena tilts her head, like she won’t budge until he gives her something.

Rio sighs. “Nice. Funny. Three kids. Runs an inn. You’d like her. Got the same _ Bless this Mess _ pillow you got.”

“Wow.” Elena narrows her eyes.

“You know I hate that thing.”

Elena shakes her head. Slowly, she says, “That’s a lot of information.”

“You _ asked_,” Rio reminds her sharply. 

“Like that’s ever worked,” Elena scoffs, mouth curving into a small frown. “Parece que...”

Rio cocks an eyebrow.

“Well, I can’t tell. Are you being this open because you’ve turned a new leaf? Because you’re trying? Or is it because she’s so meaningless to you, you just… aren’t even bothering with the secretive schtick? You basically just rolled over when I asked.”

Rio groans. There’s no winning, apparently. But he ain’t about to psychoanalyze his behavior over his dating life with Elena. “Why we talkin’ ‘bout me? Thought this was about you. Move in with him. You’re trippin’ over some made-up problem.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I what?”

“Refusing to get over a made-up problem? What’s stopping you from being with this woman? Elizabeth?”

Rio’s sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting down. He doesn’t answer.

“Why’d you break up, Chris?”

He pauses, like he isn’t going to respond. But Elena keeps staring at him, like she isn’t going to give up. “Why’s that matter?”

“Because I asked,” Elena throws back at him immediately. “Suddenly you’re not in the mood to share?”

Now she’s abruptly annoyed. Just like Elizabeth had been at dinner when Charlotte had spilled all the things she knew about him. 

And then Elizabeth had pointed out what he’d been refusin’ to see, and everything locked into place, started makin’ sense again.  
  
_ She’s exactly like me_, Elizabeth had spat, like that was worse than her finding the exact fuckin’ opposite of him. Like Rio had done it just to drive her crazy.

Nah. The fuckin’ problem was that it was drivin’ _ him _ crazy—Charlotte was too similar and not similar enough, and it was only makin’ him want Elizabeth _ more_. It was making everything else feel goddamn _ impossible_, but he hadn’t realized why ‘til that moment. 

“...but you still clam up whenever she comes up. I know what that means.” Rio jerks up, realizing that he’s tuned out half of Elena’s speech. 

“Leave it.”

“It _ means_,” Elena barrels over him, “that you’re still protective over whatever you had with Elizabeth—and you aren’t going to be able to have anything real with anyone else, you know, until you get over her.”

Rio downs the rest of his tea. “Move in with Alex. He’s good to you. And Marcus.”

“You can’t force it, you know.”

“And you can’t stop things from movin’ forward just ‘cause you scared.”

He says it with frustration, but Elena swallows thickly, nodding. “I could say the same for you.”

Rio’s mouth twists, and he nods, as if considering it. “You want my advice?” he asks, scooting his chair back. He gets up, presses a kiss to Elena’s cheek. Elena looks up at him. “Say yes. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“Christopher—” she starts, but Rio's already out of the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this chapter have been written for WEEKS AND WEEKS and I was so looking forward to getting here—it was one of my favorite chapters! And then it was SO hard to finish writing it and make it work. My amazing beta medievalraven read this over so, so many times for me and was super helpful in pointing out what wasn't working. 
> 
> I'm still really uncertain about it, but finally feel it's in a good enough place to post, and I am extremely ready to jump into the next chapter after it, haha.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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